Never Forever
by Thyme In Her Eyes
Summary: Cloud's act of devotion. [Cloud x Aeris]


Never Forever

by Thyme In Her Eyes

_Author's Notes: _Another shortfic written for the CxA Forum's 100 Themes Contest, and this time the prompt is "Devotion". The story is set after the game – ignore or include the Compilation if you like. Oh, and just to disclaim – I don't own these characters. Happy reading!

-- NEVER FOREVER --

_I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel._

– Maya Angelou.

x-x-x

He only comes by once each year, on the same day without fail. He's not one for anniversaries or ritual, never has been, but he's always on the road at this time of the year, and always feels compelled to stop and pay his respects. The city draws him close and wraps him in its mystery and despair. He never plans it, never schemes to be here alone or to hurt the people close to him by choosing to do this by himself and face the memories alone, but things always work out this way. He never sets any plans or makes arrangements beforehand, but somehow always has the same gift waiting for her each year.

Nobody knows. He doesn't make a big deal of it. When he gets back home, life is normal and so is he – everything being as it should be. All his sunken introspection is used up by then, and he can let a smile go easily once he's with his friends again. He doesn't even ask himself what compels him to go through this each year, why this act of devotion is so important.

The pathway down to sacred shrine beneath the city always opens for him on this night, as he knows it will. He walks stiffly, as if aware of eyes looking at him, feeling the the presence of the Cetra around him. He struggles to be respectful as he descends down the glass stairs, and never quite succeeds. The water below is cool and perpetually still, but forever fresh. If he peers down at the right spot, he might easily see a small and gentle green light glow under its surface, still shining on. This light should make him think of hope, but it's too small and lonely for that. It makes him sad to see it, and always avoids looking at the water's surface.

Sometimes he wants to talk to her, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he talks anyway, imagining her wise eyes and small nods as she listens. Sometimes his lips are shut tight and he rages at himself for not being able to forget her and let all this _go_. Again and again, he wishes he could understand her, and how it is she still affects him. Whatever happens, he always leaves her gift behind, always treats it with care.

His gift is a single red rose, and he always leaves it here, where she knelt and smiled at him. It marks that she _was_, and stands for everything she had to give up. Roses aren't even her favourite kind of flower, but he feels as if they were made for occasions like this, and can say what he never can mange to spit out. He wants to say so much, aches with it sometimes, but lets the fact that he's here and laying down a rose for her say those things instead. He's sure she'll understand.

This is his way of telling her that he still remembers; he remembers everything. And what he remembers is more than just her, more than an assortment of details or a collection of her characteristics - he holds something much more precious than those visual impressions. He still remembers how she made him feel and what she meant to him, and sometimes it's not easy to deal with. But what he remembers most is a time in his life when a woman's smile made him believe that anything could happen. A time when the possibilities seemed endless.

He places the single rosebud on the altar, silently swearing to come back next year. The pressure of her silence is crushing. After he leaves, an underground breeze always catches it the flower, lifts it into the air and gently lowers it into the water. It spirals as it falls. Lying on the forever calm surface, it floats and dances for many minutes, drawing swirling patterns with soft ripples. But eventually something calls it down and the rose sinks, taking its vivid colour, soft petals and fragrance deep below.

-- FIN --


End file.
